Helping Hand
by HC247
Summary: When a performance does not go as planned, inspiration may come from the most unlikely places. E/C


**A belated piece for Kinktober. Also my first M rating.**

 **As terrified as I am to post this, I always love to hear your thoughts. I hope you enjoy**!

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By the time Christine reached her dressing room at intermission, no less than four ballerinas, two stagehands and the prop master had been forced to scramble out of her path lest one of them become the victim of an imminent diva's outburst. Upon reaching her blessed place of solitude - at least for the next twenty minutes - she promptly slammed the door behind her and collapsed at her vanity. No matter how great her attempts, she was too close to entirely avoid the mirror in front of her and it took only one inadvertent glance at her drawn features to set the tears free that she had worked so hard to keep a bay.

Somewhere behind her, the faint click of the dressing mirror sounded and the concerned voice of her teacher invaded her sense. "Christine…" Footfalls were muffled by the rich carpet as he approached. "Dearest, whatever is the matter?"

With a sniffle, she glanced up, meeting anxious golden eyes in the smaller mirror before her. "Don't placate me, Erik," she muttered, squeezing her eyes closed again. "I know you were watching. You're always watching."

When he could only manage a deep sigh in response, she dropped her head to her hands as a fresh set of tears began to flow.

Everything was wrong. When M. Reyer had announced the season opener, Christine had been elated. The Magic Flute had proven to open to high anticipation which was only heightened when it had been announced that Christine Daae had been awarded the coveted role of Pamina.

While the playbill had also boasted La Carlotta in the starring role as The Queen of the Night, Christine had been elated with the opportunity and diligently committed herself to giving a flawless performance. Even the best-laid plans go awry, however, as tonight had proven. Two missed cues and a lyrical error brought the opera to the end of Act I and Christine to her breaking point.

"What is wrong with me?" she lamented, lifting her head and turning watery eyes to the Opera Ghost who now shifted uncomfortably across the room.

"Oh, Christine," Crossing the room, he pulled her to her feet and into his arms, wrapping on long arm around her waist as the other stroked her hair. "You were perfection only a day before," he soothed as she clung to his lean frame. "What ails you tonight?"

Her sniffles faded away as she relaxed against him, drawing away slightly. "Perhaps I just needed your arms around me for a moment."

He chuckled despite himself, dipping his head to steal a kiss from her upturned face before he replied, "If only it were that simple. Come," Stepping away, he led her to the divan and took a seat next to her. "What seems to be the problem?"

With a shake of her head, Christine shifted slightly, angling her body closer to his with a thoughtful sigh. "I just...seem to have lost any inspiration."

Behind the mask, Erik quirked a brow. "Inspiration? How so?"

"Pamina is passionately in love with the Prince, isn't she? I am sure that you'll agree that my Pamina's embrace of Piangi's Tamino was...lackluster at best." Christine muttered, chancing a glance at the man beside her.

Erik hesitated. "Well…"

"Erik, please." Christine huffed, spearing him with a glare. "You've never been afraid to point out my flaws before. Do not attempt to mollify me with half-truths when I am asking for an honest assessment. But do make it quick," Her gaze wandered to the small clock atop her mantle. "I have to be on stage in fifteen minutes."

He studied her for a moment, eyes darkening as she followed his gaze to her Act II gown hanging patiently on the wardrobe. "Do you trust me?"

She blinked, startled by his abrupt change in demeanor, but followed him as he rose to his feet. "Of course I do, but what on earth…"

"Providing your _inspiration_ ," he replied, a wicked smile blooming on his lips as he drew near. "Have you any objections?"

The first licks of desire settled low in her abdomen as his intentions dawned but other than the first flicker of surprise, she found her blood quickly warming with anticipation. She suspected he may have been expecting any number of protests: how inappropriate this was, that there was not enough time, or how they might be caught in a moment,

Instead, he seemed almost stunned as she stepped forward first, moving up against him, sliding her hands into the thick hair of his wig and pulling him down to her mouth.

The spark ignited as if by magic and any reservations either of them may have had went up in the flames. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Christine pulled his lower lip into her mouth, teasing it with her tongue before nipping just hard enough to hover the match to gunpowder that her blood had become. A slight shift of her hips forward and Erik's ragged groan brought a smile into the kiss and the spark to the fuel.

 _We don't have time for this._ The words registered against his lips even as she stretched higher, pressing into him, reaching for his hand in a silent plea. He chuckled, bringing the realization that the thought was spoken aloud, yet allowed her to grasp his hand, weaving fingers together briefly before moving farther up his arm.

"Erik, we can't," she whispered, even as her hold on him tightened. "I have to be on stage in less than ten minutes. This is madness…"

"They will manage." he replied with a rogue smirk, his beautiful tenor suddenly rough with desire, "Your attentions are required here for the time being."

Heart pounding, Christine met his smoldering gaze as a thrill ran up her spine. "So it would seem," she acquiesced, not giving him the satisfaction of a retort before she kissed him again. Her hand clamped around his wrist suddenly, dragging it down over her breast, beneath her skirts, up her leg. A growl escaped from his throat as his fingers made quick work of the material there, shifting and circulating until finding what they sought.

It still amazed her, the thrill of his touch, how easy he remembered her body. His mouth moved in tandem with his hand, memorizing the shape of her, how she moved against him as he worked her body into a state of elation. Her own hands found a new home on his chest, one palm pressed flat there as the other slid down to his belt, becoming its own kind of torture device.

Abruptly, he tore away from her mouth, burying his face in her neck with a strangled hiss as her fingers skirted the material at the front of his trousers. "Minx," he muttered against her skin, even as his fingers quickened their pace, causing her hands to fly up to his shoulders, digging in as her eyes fell closed and her mouth opened in a silent cry.

Across the room, the clock chimed a five-minute warning to the start of Act II. "Erik!" Christine cried, half in alarm and half from the fire shooting through her veins even as her finger dug deeper into the flesh of his shoulder, her head dropping to rest against this clavicle.

"Stay with me." he prompted, gritting his teeth as his own body cried for release and she moved quicker against his hand, seeking something that only he could provide. Too soon and not soon enough, bliss assaulted her from all angles, and she suddenly lost all sense of time and space. Erik was the only clear thing in the twisting mess.

With her eyes still closed and face tilted toward the ceiling, Christine sagged against Erik as his touch slowed, but he didn't pull away. She was perfectly aware of his free arm wrapped securely around her waist, practically holding her upright. Her legs felt like jelly as she caught her breath, suddenly aware of Erik's own labored ones against her forehead, his free hand shooting past her to grip the back of the chaise. Their chests heaved against one another, alternating in inhales and exhales and Christine swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus on Erik's heartbeat beneath her ear instead of the friction of his chest against her breasts.

Having regained her breath what felt like a millennia later and pressing a kiss to his temple, Christine stepped away. Erik let her go, following her movements through the room. Wordlessly, she worked the laces and allowed her costume to fall to the floor, hiding a secret smile at her companion's sudden draw of air through his lungs. As she pulled on the gown to begin Act II, his voice echoed from behind her, still tight despite his best efforts. "And now, Christine? Are you feeling inspired to bring such Pamina's passion to the stage?"

Turning her back to him with a questioning raise of her brow, she chuckled as he began to lace up the gown on her silent command. "I suppose you could say so" she quipped, heart thundering as she felt his lips graze the top of her spine.

Spinning, Christine lifted herself to indulge in a final, languid kiss before slipping from his grasp. "A word of warning, husband," she admonished with eyes alive with a hard glint and a promise. "Though this snippet was lovely, be advised. This evening, I shall expect nothing less than a full performance."


End file.
